


Proving a Point

by lady_ragnell



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Episode 4x08, Episode Tag, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ragnell/pseuds/lady_ragnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin proves Arthur wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proving a Point

Arthur walks into his bedroom, another long day behind him, to find Merlin sprawled on his bed, naked as the day he was born and panting into the pillows with two fingers buried in his arse. Merlin looks over his shoulder when Arthur lets the door slam shut, but Arthur has to wait a few seconds before he can trust his voice. “What are you doing?”

Merlin gives him the cow-eyed, innocent look that makes him look like the ignorant peasant he was when he first came to Camelot and always means he’s about to say something outrageous. “Making sure I can find my backside, sire.”

It takes Arthur a moment to remember a comment he made without thinking, teasing Merlin automatically in the midst of everything, and then he has to swallow a smile. Of course, after fighting yet another monster, after being stranded with his enchanted friends for days, Merlin turns up to tease him as usual. “You seem to have done so.” Merlin punctuates that statement with a breathless noise as he twists his fingers, and Arthur strips out of his shirt. He has no illusions about where the evening is going. “Is there a reason you’re doing so on my bed?”

Merlin is trying to keep up the simple look, but there’s a wicked glint in his eyes. “I thought you might want to check and make sure I got it right.”

“Honestly, Merlin, do you need supervising for everything? Perhaps I should have kept George on after all.” Arthur turns away as he takes off the rest of his clothes; he’s not sure he could keep his expression blank in the face of Merlin’s outrage.

Merlin just snorts. “He does like polishing, after all.”

Arthur turns back around to make some sort of joke and the words die on his tongue at the sight of Merlin rubbing his cheek against the sheets as he works a third finger inside himself, all trace of a joke off his face now that he thinks Arthur isn’t looking. Arthur goes to the bed and rests a hand on the small of Merlin’s back to keep him in place when he looks likely to roll over. “Let me see. Where’s the slick?”

After a second, Merlin manages to use his free hand to grab the little pot of salve Arthur keeps under the pillow for just such occasions, and Arthur snatches it out of his hand to slather it on his on fingers and pull Merlin’s hand out of his way. Merlin whines a protest into the bed even though he knows what he’s going to get. Arthur laughs and slides in a finger to replace Merlin’s, and then another when he doesn’t get resistance.

Merlin is hot and slick inside—he’s been at it for a while, then, and Arthur’s guess is only confirmed when a gentle stroke in the right place makes him moan and thrust against the bed. “Almost there,” he promises, and gets half a glare for his troubles. “What? No use hurting your backside when you’ve only just found it.”

“You are such a—oh,” says Merlin, and Arthur smirks to himself as he adds a third finger and goes about making sure he’s thoroughly stretched.

Since the beginning, Merlin’s liked this, sprawling on the bed or over Arthur’s lap or once, memorably, by the fire on a hunting trip with Arthur’s hand over his mouth, while Arthur works him over. Arthur likes it too, making Merlin go tongue-tied and loose beneath him, and it’s been a while since he had time to do it properly, so he takes his time about it until Merlin grabs his wrist with still-slippery fingers and glares back at him. “Fine,” Arthur says, then “Turn over” when Merlin just tries to scramble to his knees.

When Merlin’s on his back and smiling up at Arthur, all impatience forgotten, Arthur takes a moment to appreciate the sight of Merlin hard and dripping against his stomach while he slicks his own cock up. Before Merlin can object again, Arthur drops the bottle of salve somewhere in the bedsheets where Merlin will surely roll on top of it later and complain and positions them to his liking, grappling Merlin’s legs up over Arthur’s shoulders. Merlin gives him a wry look and grabs for the headboard, and Arthur lines up and slides in.

He knows almost before he’s fully inside that it isn’t going to be a long fuck, not one of the times where he keeps going until Merlin begs for it or Merlin goads him about his stamina and he has to prove him wrong or one of the times when Merlin fucks him and makes it endless. Merlin’s eyes flutter shut and Arthur has to grit his teeth until Merlin stops clenching around him so he can snap his hips forward, falling into a rhythm while Merlin pushes against him with all the leverage he can muster.

Arthur wraps his hand around Merlin’s cock sooner than he usually would, when Merlin starts letting out choked-off moans every time Arthur gives a particularly hard thrust. “Yes, that,” he demands, for once not teasing Arthur for giving in so soon, and Arthur gives him what he wants.

Merlin comes within a dozen strokes, arching until all his weight’s on his shoulders, and then he goes boneless through it while Arthur keeps thrusting, legs falling from Arthur’s shoulders. “Lazy,” Arthur chides, breathless and amused and almost choking on the word.

In answer, Merlin reaches out and strains up to skim a hand down Arthur’s back to squeeze his arse. “Oh look,” he says, eyes glinting. “I found your backside too, sire.”

Arthur comes laughing.


End file.
